


in any universe

by surrenderer



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-05 18:38:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18834418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surrenderer/pseuds/surrenderer
Summary: He dies from a spear to the gut first, and then later from a knife to the neck. Infection. Illness. Drowning (and oh, that was irony, wasn’t it?) and drugs and a gunshot to the head. Too many ways to die, to take a life, and he feels as though he’s experienced all of them.But death never happens until he finds her, in every world.





	in any universe

**Author's Note:**

> ha ha ha i haven't finished a fic since 2015, haven't properly tried to write one in at least a year, and YET HERE WE ARE. un-betaed, written at work on a secret google doc, mistakes galore, probably. a big, big thank you to every writer i've read in the last month, because without reading your fantastic works, i wouldn't be posting this today.
> 
> title and final quote from young the giant.

He closes his eyes--  
  
And then they open--  
  
Again.  
  
And again. And again.

 

* * *

 

Theon doesn’t always remember the lifetimes he’s already lived. The times are too different, the _worlds_ are too different. But he always remembers the first one. He remembers stone-grey islands and unforgiving seas, an unforgiving family, and then snow. Snow and a new family, who embrace him with open arms. He remembers clashing practice swords and playing in the woods and the wolves that follow the Stark children, and the feeling that he would never be one of them, no matter how many times Robb looked him in the eyes and called him “brother.”  
  
He remembers the torture, the never-ending pain and humiliation at the hands of a madman, and then jumping off the walls of a castle and a rebirth in the sea, the pain from his sister’s fist and her calm acceptance, and volunteering to defend his wolf pack until his last breath.  
  
He remembers sitting by a fire on a cold winter’s evening over two bowls of watery broth in the midst of war, but her presence and kind eyes do more to warm him than anything else.  
  
He dies from a spear to the gut first, and then later from a knife to the neck. Infection. Illness. Drowning (and oh, that was irony, wasn’t it?) and drugs and a gunshot to the head. Too many ways to die, to take a life, and he feels as though he’s experienced all of them.  
  
But death never happens until he finds her, in every world.

 

* * *

 

The cruelest one thus far was when they were children, a little girl with red hair crying on the playground and a little boy with brown curls who tackled another little boy to the sand with kicks and punches until the teacher pulls them apart. He gives her back the doll and she smiles at him through her hiccups.  
  
Theon dies in a car crash that kills his whole family two weeks later--he doesn’t even _remember_ that life until halfway into his next one.  
  
The longest he’s gone without finding her was some forty years and he’s started to give up hope--and then he sees her on the street, a flash of red hair and long legs, black umbrella protecting her from the rain, and then she ducks into a store. He follows her immediately, crosses the street and nearly gets hit by a cab for all his trouble, and steps into line neatly behind her.

 

* * *

 

In some ways, Sansa is always the same; brilliant and compassionate and prone to hiding her real thoughts behind a cool mask of polite indifference, but Theon learns to tell the difference between _before_ and _after._  
  
_Before_ Sansa is carefree, loves easily, is beautiful the way spring is beautiful, with hope in the air and the promise of the happiest times of your life. She is generous with her smiles. She flicks dish soap at him as they clean up after dinner, winds her fingers in his curling hair as they sleep, talks about life and love like the whole world is at her feet. At _their_ feet.  
  
_After_ Sansa is guarded, brittle and collected, but loves fiercely and fights to protect what she has. She is beautiful the way the last month of autumn is beautiful, with crisp winds and a golden glow and the knowledge that all things must end. She trembles during nightmares and sometimes pushes him away, instinct to protect herself working faster than her brain, but he waits patiently and she always comes back to him.  
  
She waits patiently for him too, on the days and nights when Theon has too many memories clamoring for space in his mind, when he needs to be anywhere but where he is right now and it’s all he can do to remember his name. She holds him, she always does, and she tells him that he is safe, even when she doesn’t know what ghosts he cringes from.  
  
Funny, how the halls they loved as children held more nightmares in them than either of them could ever imagine.  
  
Funny, how Theon finds himself as far from home as possible in both time and space, yet Sansa is a magnet he can’t pull himself away from.

 

* * *

 

In every lifetime, Theon does his best to find Sansa before the world has its way with her. He’s not always successful, he doesn’t always remember the past until it’s too late, but sometimes fate is in his favor. Those memories are the sweetest. He never asks if she remembers their first life together because he’s too afraid of the answer.  
  
He meets her in every possible scenario he can imagine. He’s a bartender, she comes in for a date and has a terrible time. Theon wants to spit in the man’s drink and barely restrains himself from doing so. The date ends, he leaves, she sits at the bar, and then leaves with Theon the same night.  
  
She is a queen, cold and powerful in her own right, and Theon is commander of the Queensguard. He stands at her closed door himself each night with a hand on his sword because he would never trust someone else with Sansa’s safety.  
  
He is a soldier, injured, missing a finger or two, and she is the nurse who comes in to re-dress the wounds. He doesn’t know how to tell her that this is not the first time, but he tells her this the best care he’s ever received, and while she scolds him for flirting, she also smiles gently at him.  
  
He sails the world to escape the memories of the war he lived through the last time, and he meets her in a pub when he finally returns to shore.  
  
He lives next door to her apartment and punches Ramsay Bolton in the face himself when he shows up one night, threatening to break down her door so he can destroy her again. It feels good, it feels cathartic, and when Sansa cleans off the blood from his knuckles with trembling hands, it feels like they are sitting by a fire again the night before a long-ago war. It feels like seeing her again, after years of conflict and atonement, and the warmth of her arms as she embraced him, and allowed him to return the gesture.

 

* * *

 

“Do you ever think there’s more out there?” she asks delicately one summer evening. Theon is twenty-five, or fifty, or one-hundred, he’s never sure anymore. All he knows is that the gods have brought them back together yet again.  
  
He hasn’t decided yet if this is all some cruel trick of theirs, if every reincarnation is punishment for his sins or if this is his reward for the few good deeds he’s done, but this moment with Sansa, this beautiful moment, has to be a reward. They’ve had good years together, and this lifetime has been more peaceful than most already. She tailors wedding dresses, he tends bar, and all her family is alive. He’s thankful; the previous life ended in too much bloodshed, and he has spent too many hours, days, _years_ since trying to forget the sight of her blood on the ground.  
  
“More what?” he asks, flicking cigarette ash off the porch. Catelyn would never allow him to smoke in the house, but Sansa would never allow him to smoke alone.  
  
“More than _this_ ,” she says with a sigh, nudging her shoulder against his, and finally sliding her hand down his forearm, past his wolf tattoo that was a product of Robb's goading and too much alcohol, and then lacing their fingers together. Theon swallows, though his throat has gone dry at the mere brush of her fingers. In this life so far, he has been nothing more than her friend. “Worlds, universes, whatever you’d like to call it. I think about it sometimes, you know.”  
  
His heart pounds in his chest. He’s known her for entire lifetimes, again and again and again, and she’s never so much as hinted to remembering a thing about a past life. “Sansa…”  
  
“I remember all of it,” she confesses, eyes shining with tears that threaten to spill over, even as Theon grips her hand. “I remember all of it, I remember Winterfell and my family and you... and what we survived. And I remember when you died, but you keep coming back. Every time I turn around, every time I open my eyes, you’re always there.”  
  
“I…” Theon trails off, looking at their intertwined hands. This is how it always starts, and part of him always wants to pull away because losing her hurts every single time. But what is his life worth-- what are his _many_ lives worth, if he doesn’t get to spend them with her? “I will always come back for you, my lady,” he finally says. The words are familiar on his tongue. It feels like a piece of his heart is finally settling into place, being able to say them freely.  
  
She laughs gently, wiping her eyes with her free hand before she touches his cheek. “You said that the night before the battle too. You’ve more than kept your promise, Theon.”  
  
When he leans down to kiss her, she tastes like salt, like lemons, and just like when they did this that first time.

 

* * *

 

_in any universe  
you are my dark star _


End file.
